When it comes to celebrities, especially that very special class of much-loved super-celebs (think Michael Jordan, or either of two Joes, Namath and Montana), a little bit of disclosure goes a long way. Still, the media tsunami unleashed by Andre Agassi's disclosure that he'd experimented with crystal meth was startling in force and sweep.
I respect Agassi for coming clean about his experiment with a drug that's wreaked havoc, especially in rural America (precincts that figure mostly as a curiosity for the mainstream coastal media). Crystal meth, unlike cocaine, is no fashionable accessory for high-maintenance supermodels and the men who pretend to love them. It's a nasty, blue-collar drug; nothing glamorous about it.
And let's remember that Agassi, in many ways, has always had a blue-collar heart, even after it grew bigger than that. He was a kid with a mullet, whose youthful idea of fine dining was pointing the nose of the Camaro at the drive-through window at Taco Bell. Credit Agassi as remaining true to himself in the drug that seduced him. Many people would have been ashamed to admit the gritty truth.
There are basically two kinds of confessions when it comes to autobiographies, especially those of celebrities: tell-somes and tell-alls. The former always seem coy, and suggest that they were just dropped in there at the insistence of a publisher terrified of taking a bath on the book, or the conscience of the author. The tell-alls seem more heartfelt and often have a glow of genuine honesty, except when they're milked to death for the shock value.
Agassi's disclosure is in the tell-all category, and I admire him for the way he handled it, even if it disappoints. (My own question to those who feel let down: How could you think that a rebellious kid who had serious issues with his father and a game that was rammed down his throat -- even though he was great at it -- wouldn't have done something like that?) Agassi chose "Open" as the title for his book, and he delivered what he promised.
I don't want to sound jaded or degenerate, but as confessions of self-destructive behavior go, this was a good one -- "good" in the sense that Agassi not only handled the subject matter correctly, he walked the fine line between glorifying his stroll on the dark side (given the drug, "sprint" might be a better word) -- and he was trying to use that experiment as a platform for preaching about the lunacy of his conduct. I like that he rejected the cloak of the righteous reformed.
I've read similar revelations that had a bunch of caveats attached, most of them rationalizations suggesting: This wasn't the real me, it was just something that … happened. They've always left me cold. So have confessions that devolve into lessons for "you kids out there," which make the revelations sound like PSAs. There's a time and place for that, of course, but not in the context of an adult autobiography.
I found Agassi's confession pitch-perfect, and I'm not enough of a cynic to doubt the authenticity of that voice. Agassi didn't throw the incident out there and then run away from it; it's pretty clear that the first line of meth sent him into a spiral that lasted for a significant period. But he didn't work that time in his life for all the drama and pathos it must have contained. That would have been cheap.
I thought it both poignant and true to life when Agassi wrote that as soon as he ingested the drug for the first time, he felt overcome by a vast wave of sadness. You can't make that up; it comes with the territory when you fall from grace.
But Agassi's story is a tale of falling up toward grace, which is why no PSA is required.
Peter Bodo
